A Lot Can Happen in Two Years
by Dizzy Takeout
Summary: It's been two years and both Sam and Freddie have changed... a lot: . Disclaimer: I don't own iCarly.
1. A Slow Beginning

A lot can happen in two years.

In a span of two years, I grew three inches, dropped an octave, and took up fencing through the school, which contrary to popular belief _does_ give you a fantastic build. I would say I have progressed for the better. Of course, I am still an "AV enthusiast." Ok… I'm still a dork. But now that I'm considered good looking by most female standards, it doesn't bother me anymore.

As I said, two years is a long time. I say this because in a span of two years, Carly has also changed. But, compared to myself, Carly did quite the opposite. It was a regression to say the least. And well, maybe this is stupid but I blame it on her chest. From freshman year to sophomore year it went from an A to a DD. I'm assuming you have a good idea of what happens next. If you guessed "she turns into a slut," you guessed incorrectly. If you guessed "she turned into a dirty, loose, soul-sucking, hand jobs for cash, bitch-faced whore" then we have a winner. I'm going to put it easily and say, that I am trapped in that friendship.

As for Sam, well, Sam is Sam. Out of the three she is the only one who didn't change drastically. She stayed the same height, her hair is the same but her face thinned out showing her bone structure more. She joined the volleyball team and it seemed to calm her down. A lot. Over the years, her abuse slowly turned to witty comebacks and playful banter. Instead of dreading her presence, I look forward to it. I can honestly say I consider her a best friend, and no longer a rude, bitchy, food vacuum.

The date was November 1, 2011. It was unusually hot for fall. The ground was covered with pumpkin pieces, toilet paper and abandoned costume accessories. The walk to school was uneventful. Last night was rather uneventful as well, to my disappointment. A couple of guys from fencing had a party and I made an appearance. Once everyone started to get drunk, I high tailed it. Over my dead body was I driving them home, they can suck my balls. I stopped by Carly's to say hello and Spencer insisted I help him glue thirty nine paper mache penises to a picnic table. I glued a few and then asked Spencer where Carly was. He mumbled something about a party with Sterling and returned to his penis picnic. At the precise moment Sam barged in and looked right at me. I then realized I was still holding a green paper penis.

"Happy Halloween… and what are you supposed to be, Freddie?" she folded her arms over her chest. She smiled and her eyes lit up. I laughed lightly.

"A faggot, Sam" I realized a year or so back that it's best to play along with her, and in actuality it makes the situation much more fun.

"Silly Freddie!" She walked up to me and sat on the arm of the couch. "You're supposed to _dress up_ for Halloween!" She took the penis out of my hand and tossed it from one hand to another, as if it was a baseball, "Spencer, if you don't mind me asking, but what the fuck is with the cock party?"

"It's for a client." He answered, obviously wrapped up in his work.

"Spencer, Lewbert's birthday is next week." She giggled and handed him the green penis. I laughed and a mental image of Spencer's table in Lewbert's musty apartment came to my mind. It was clear the same image came to Sam's mind because she burst into laughter.

"So what are you tonight?" I asked Sam and she looked down at her outfit. It was a typical outfit of hers. A black pair of sweat pants that spelled PINK across the ass, a tight gray shirt that spelled billabong across the chest, and a white bandana across her forehead. She examined her outfit.

"A sexy beast."

We all chuckle at her 'costume.' My mom decided then to take me home and we spent the rest of the night together in the living room doing sudoku. It's really turned into a tradition with us. We both sit in our living room, put our feet up on the coffee table and let the silence of sudoku take over the room. I used to dread it but once I got over the fact that I will being doing it so long as I lived there, I got used to it. After a few years, I learned to love it. It's a game of logic, thinking, and learning from mistakes. I could do it for hours on end.

But anyway, back to November 1, 2011. Arriving at school is always a pain. Since we had 14 bomb threats in the past two months alone, the school has really pushed up security. We have airport style metal detectors, guards, and a school ID scanner. Since Carly had early morning detention and I lacked a ride, I was one of the last to show up. I got onto the end of the ridiculous line.

"Missing something, Benson?" I turn around and am faced with Sam. She smiles a sly smile and asks her question again.

"Well, nothing that I'm aware of, but I'm sure you'll tell me." I tease. Her dark blue eyes lit up.

"Are you gonna guess?" She eggs me on. I roll my eyes, but to be quite honest I don't mind her games as much as I used to.

"You stole my…phone?" She shakes her head.

"Nope."

"My books?"

"Nah…"

"My laptop?"

"No… but that's a good idea. I'll remember that one for future reference," She winks playfully, "Thanks for the inspiration."

"I give up. What is it?"

"Your wallet, duh." She holds up my leather wallet. To say the least, I was stunned.

"How the fuck did you get my wallet?" I took it out of her hand and made sure it was mine. Indeed it was, my license, library card, school ID, credit card all exactly the way it was when I shoved it in my pocket this morning.

"I pit-pocketed you," She smiled proudly and inched forward in the line, "Oh and you might want to consider putting your wallet on a chain or something. I've never stolen anything so easily in my life."

"Number one: how many wallets have you stolen? Number two: where did you learn how to pit-pocket? Number three: why would anyone teach_ you_ to pit-pocket?" She rolled her eyes, but smiles despite herself. I love her smile, it's all toothy. I just don't like it if it's at my expense.

"You know I'm not good at tests. But I'll give this one a shot. Answer to number one is one. Yours. But when I was learning, I had to steal from my relatives. But they knew I was going to do it, thus making it pretty difficult. Two is my dad," I watched the light leave her eye but she continued, "He thought it would be a valuable life skill. He was seriously right though. Pit-pocketing is an amazing talent to possess, like driving stick shift. Three: I resent that question and refuse to answer it." She folds her arms over her chest and glared at me. She can only keep a straight face for a minute before cracking up. I laugh along with her.

When we get to the top of the line, I glide through the metal detectors with ease. Sam, on the other hand, had to go through a more thorough search on account of her belly button piercing. I waited up out of instinct.

The guard was running the smaller metal detector across her body, but paused on her boobs. It took him a moment or two to realize he was staring at them and finished his search. Now, in this situation, any other girl would have crossed her arms and blushed, but Sam decided it would be more fun to jut out her chest and let him examine her boobs. When she was told she could leave, she nodded, grabbed her bag and stuck her left palm in the direction of the guard. "I'm glad you enjoyed the show…" she peered at his name tag, "Ron. But that'll be forty bucks. Oh and an extra twenty if you think you'll stare at my ass as I leave." She scoffed but didn't take her eyes off the guard. He finally shied away and returned to checking student IDs.

Everyone, including myself, laughed at her bluntness. Even some teachers giggled into their coffee cups. She strutted towards me and asked me what I was painting for the art project Mrs. Youngman assigned yesterday.

"Weren't you even slightly embarrassed that he was checking you out? Even Carly would have blushed a little."

"Haha no. Carly would have dropped to her knees and offered to suck him off. But why should I be embarrassed? _He_ was the douche bag. _He_ should be blushing. Not me." Can't argue with that logic.

"I'll see you in Chemistry." I wave and headed toward my first period class.

* * *

I would consider myself to be good looking.

Not gorgeous, but good looking.

I have long blonde hair that curls into large ringlets and looks remarkable in a high ponytail. I have naturally tanned skin, long legs and the shortest torso that has ever walked planet Earth. My boobs are, in my opinion, perfect boobs. They are a 34C, not too big, not too small.

Now my fashion sense leaves something to be desired, I suppose. Everyday I can be counted on wearing something comfortable as opposed to "trendy." I shop at PINK like it's my job, and have more sweatpants and sweatshirts than I do anything else. I wear tee shirts from Pac Sun, Hollister, and Model's. Well, fuck style.

And I'm athletic. I'm the only junior to make captain in Volleyball. And I played varsity all four years. I made all-county and already have colleges watching me.

And what about my personality? I guess I can be a little inappropriate and un-lady like. And maybe I eat a lot. And I suppose I could strive to be a little bit more polite. But, I have a sense of humor and I love to laugh. I would say I'm enjoyable to be around.

So why is Freddie not in love with me?

The chemistry has been there. I see it. And you know what? I'm not the only fucking one. People are constantly asking me when Freddie's going to make a move. And you know what; I'm fucking tired of it.

Yep, I'm tired of it. So, next chance we are alone; I'm going to seduce him. Yes, it's decided. And if he takes the bait, I'll fuck him. I'll fucking fuck him. Because if there is one thing I can't stand, it's tension. And it's starting to brim over.

"Sam! Are you paying attention?" Mrs. Gregg calls from the front of her classroom. It's only then I realize that I haven't heard a thing she has said the entire forty minutes I've been here. Spanish is stupid.

"No," I answer honestly. What's the point of lying?

"Well, then you_ might_ have trouble on tomorrow's quiz." She put her hand on her hip and smiled a smug smile. God, she's a bitch.

"I _might_. Or since this is such an easy class, I _might _scrape by on simply common sense and no knowledge on the language whatsoever. Or, I _might_ already have a complete understanding of it, and you have no idea," I look her in the eye, "Just some things to consider."

"Sam, por favor lo acompaña a la oficina del director." She smiled smugly. Does she think I'm retarded?

"¡Por supuesto, algo para usted!" I say back and secretly joy over the shocked look on her face. I pick up my Victoria's Secret bag and head out the door.

I mosey my way to the office. On my way, I'm flipping through my Spanish notebook. When I come to the 'notes' of today, I find a sketch, one I don't even remember doing. I have a very strange habit. Whenever I day dream, my hands automatically draw whatever is coming to my mind, it's a reflex. And often, I don't even realize I'm doing it. Sometimes it's awesome, when you find a cool looking picture of a shark or something. But, it sucks as well. Especially, when your teacher sees you drawing a lovely outline of her fucking a grizzly bear while handcuffed to a gas station attendant on fire. True story.

But today's drawing wasn't so vulgar. It was actually pretty good. It was a drawing of the inside of my Chevy. On the front seat, there was a pair of Nikes and a pair of jeans. I then recognized my Hollister tee shirt on the dash. I shrugged and threw my notebook in my bag and went along my way.

"SAM!!" I hesitated turning around, contemplating the consequences of ignoring the call versus suffering through the conversation. I end up turning around.

"Hi, Carly. What's up?" I say.

"Listen, can you give Freddie a ride home today? You have volleyball after school, so you'll be here anyway," She wraps her arm around me and kisses my cheeks, "You're awesome! Later," she runs away pulling her phone from her back pocket. God, what happened to her?

But, hey, I get some time alone with Freddie. This will be used to my advantage.

**To: Freddie; From: Sam**

**11/1/2011 9:44:33 AM**

Looks like I'm driving you home today, Benson.

**To: Sam; From: Freddie **

**11/1/2011 9:45:10 AM**

Oh, are you? Carly dumped me on you?

**To: Freddie; From: Sam**

**11/1/2011 9:45:55 AM**

Little hard on ourselves, aren't we? But yes, I have received the burden.

**To: Sam; From: Freddie**

**11/1/2011 9:46:21 AM**

Poor you. : P

**To: Freddie; From: Sam**

**11/1/2011 9:46:54 AM**

Woe is me… (: Where should I Be picking you up?

**To: Sam; From: Freddie**

**11/1/2011 9:47:19 AM**

North side of the school. At like fourish.

**To: Freddie; From: Sam**

**11/1/2011 9:47:46 AM**

Sounds like a plan.

I arrive at Principal Franklin's office. Over the years, he and I have become kind of close. Well, as close as a principal and a 'delinquent' can get. But, even he agrees that I am not a delinquent. His assessment is 'I have a problem with assuming my teachers are over using their authority and acting upon it quickly'. I don't see that as a problem. I maybe a smart ass, but notice the word 'smart.'

"Morning, Mr. Franklin," I step inside and plop down on the chair facing his desk.

"Morning, Sam," He turns to me, "What did you do?"

"I told my Spanish teacher off," I answer simply.

"Why?"

"She was being a bitch," Principal Franklin has tried and failed to stop my cursing and found it to be a lost cause. He told me in confidence that he honestly didn't care, so if it enhances my story, I'll swear.

"What did she say?"

"That I'll fail the quiz, if I didn't pay attention,"

"Sam, you _will _fail if you don't pay attention" He leans forward on his desk.

"It was the _way_ she said it," I answer weakly. I shrug.

"I believe you, Sam. But maybe you should start paying attention,"

"I don't have to. I'm almost fluent," I lean back, "¿El Sr. Franklin, yo no estaré recibiendo una detención para mi contratiempo secundario, corrige? Pienso que tal castigo sería dura dada la circunstancia."

"Adios, Sam" He chuckles, "you can wait in the office until class is over. You have like two minutes,"

"Yes, sir," I get up and pick my bag up off the floor.

"Oh… and Sam, it was refreshing to hear about you're shenanigans today, I was almost beginning to miss them," he smiles and returns to his computer screen.

"Yeah, I've been good so far this year. But, no worries, I'll duct tape a teacher to the flag pole, just for you." I click my tongue and head out.

I sit in the chair for about two minutes and the bell rings. I head to my locker and dial the combination in my head 42…1…16. I pull out my Chemistry book, my Chemistry notebook, and _Animal Farm_. I head to the English wing. English is recently my favorite course. And, well, I can thank Freddie for that one. When we made that bet, about two years ago, that I had to read a full book, how unappealing that sounded then, in three days, it started a streak. After that, reading became not only pleasant, but a full-fledged hobby. I spend a majority of allowance on books. I love George Orwell, David Sedaris, and James Patterson. My only flaw with English is, I don't read anything that doesn't interest me.  
Luckily, Mr. Thomas, has assigned _Animal Farm_ for this marking period. We are supposed to be on chapter 4, but I finished it last night. Oh well. I'll read _Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim. _Mr. T won't mind.

By the middle of the period, I put it down and decided to nap. I fold my arms across my desk and rest my head into them. I stay like this until the end of the period, a light sleep, but just enough to let my mind wander.


	2. The Bet

Chemistry has always been simple enough for me.

It's like math, only there is less computing and more activity. Mix this with this and you get this; mix this with this; and it blows up. Even the idea of Chemistry is fascinating.

Which is why I can't understand why people hate it. Especially Sam.

When I arrive in the classroom she is hidden behind _Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim. _I sit down next to her and she looks up. She smiles, folds the page corner and shoves it in her bag.

"What's up?" I ask.

"Nothing," She leaned back in her seat, put her legs on her desk and closed her eyes, "Chemistry is lame."

"That's your opinion," I say getting ready to defend one of my favorite courses.

"No, that's _everyone's_ opinion," She opens one eye, smirks, and closes it again.

"Well, that's simply because 'everyone' isn't smart enough to understand it," I open my notebook and write the date in the margin.

"Bullshit," She sits up on this, "If I wanted to ace this course, I could. It's not that difficult."

"Oh really?" I cackle, "Ok, it's on."

She smiles broadly. If there is anything she loves, it's a bet. And if it really makes her this happy, why not? Of course, I'll never let her win, and she returns the courtesy. "Ok, asshole. Who ever answers the most questions correctly wins. And we go by ratio, not by amount. It's evident he favors you," She offers her hand to me.

"The usual?" I ask before shaking.

"Well, duh," She thrusts her hand at me.

"Ok."

She smirks slyly and opens her notebook. She writes the date and, before even finishing, starts doodling. I glance at what she is drawing. Typical, a dancing hamburger, a foot and her one pride and joy- her English Mastiff, Osmond. I have to say, you would think Sam would be the last person to ever care for a puppy, but in her defense, she loves that dog more than anything. It's a one hundred and forty pound brindle puppy that is lazy, funny, unusually self- sufficient and has a minor people aggression. He's a lot like her, actually. He has really grown on her.

"You're off to a good start," I whisper.

She cracks a slight smile but, doesn't look up. "Just getting it out of my system," After she finished the sketch of the foot, she laid her pencil down, and folded her hands neatly on her desk. After a minute, she couldn't handle the kiss-ass position and put her hands behind her head.

"Pop quiz," our eighty year old teacher finally piped up, "Chapter 4, hope you guys read it." Out of the corner of my eye, I see Sam smirk. Fuck.

"What is a pure substance made up of two or more types of atoms or elements?" Sam shot her hand up. Double fuck. "Yes, Ms. Puckett."

"That would be a compound, sir." She poked me and winked. I just made a losing bet. Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck.

"Well done, Sam," He smiled and asked more questions. Sam got 4 out of 4. I got 5 out of 6. Mother Fucker!

"Suck on that, Freddork," She poked me with her pencil, "Meet me after school by the Athletic Director's office," I cringed. I can already feel the cold water in my pants and the hot shame on my face. Not looking forward to it. I watched her walk out of the classroom. I then realized I was staring at her ass and grabbed my books off my desk. I don't have twenty bucks to give her.

* * *

I practically skipped to the A.D's office after school. Even though Freddie and I are pretty close now, the same thrill of winning a bet is still there. But today's was especially exciting, we bet the usual! It's been too long since I've humiliated him like that, it's so priceless.

"Oh Freddie?!" I call out, my smile starting to hurt my cheeks, but unable to stop grinning.

"Over here…" I hear him mumble. He's already positioned by the hose that the school teams use to fill their water coolers. Lucky for him, only a couple of the fencing guys were there.

"Ready?" I smirk.

"No." But despite his answer he sticks the hose in his pants and closes his eyes, leaving me the honors. I turn the handle to the left and quickly jog back, so I can watch.

Slowly I can see the outline of the water on his shorts. All the fencing boys start cracking up and punching each other. Freddie tried to keep a straight face, but is blushing uncontrollably. I smile. Over the years, Freddie's punishment has become less humorous and more satisfying. I know this quite twisted, but, fuck it.

"That'll do, Freddie"

He sighs and removes the nozzle from his pants. He stares at me. I stare back. Suddenly, I feel the heat of the eye contact shoot through my body, but I don't look away. He's the one to break it. He walks up to me and hands me the hose. Another moment of silence. Freddie's eyes flicked to his fencing buddies and I mentally groan.

"Yo! Fred! Taft's gonna kill us, let's go" They closed the door. Freddie directed his attention back to me and leaned toward my face. I held my breath and waited. I felt his hot breath and heard him whisper huskily in my ear.

"See you at four," He passed me and walked out the door. I just stood there.

Is practice over yet?


	3. Practice

**Author's Note: Hey guys! I'm really iffy with this chapter. I pretty much hate it... but, tell me what you think :) ohh and i'm sorry i know absolutely nothing about fencing. so it'll probably be really inaccurate. ditto with volleyball. **

Epiphanies are funny things. A sudden electric realization. They can change your life, easily. They can come at the best times, and the worst times. In my case, it wasn't really bad or good, just strange.

Shoving that hose in my pants made me realize that I want to have sex with Sam Puckett.

As I was sitting there, the cold water dripping down my cock and thighs, listening to the snickers of my team, I didn't hear the laughter of Sam. I opened my eyes slightly and casually looked at her. She just stood there, eyes lit up with mischief, arms crossed. I felt the energy flood my body. 'I want her' was my only coherent thought.

So you know what? I'm gonna have her. Whether she likes it or not. I mean I won't rape her or anything, but I will get what I want. One way or another.

"Benson! Get your lazy ass over here." Shit.

"Sorry I'm late, Taft. I uhh…" had to pretend to wet myself in front of the majority of the team and in the process realized I want to plow the person who made me do it… "got caught up"

"No excuses, Faggot! Eight laps!" I'm surprised that Taft is a registered coach and teacher. He has quite the colorful vocabulary. I started sprinting around our quarter of the gym. Four of the high school teams practice here, Boys basketball, boys fencing, floor hockey, and volleyball. They split the gym into quarters with curtains. I then realized that Sam was practicing right on the other side of that curtain. I wanted so badly to push the curtain aside, throw her over my shoulder, carry her to her Chevy and fuck her. But, instead, I finished my laps.

"Listen retards," Taft gathered us around him, "Next week is our match at Paulson Black Academy. Last year they kicked our pathetic asses. This year will probably be no different unless we bump up training. I can't keep you fuckers past four, so we are extending weekend practices 'til two."

"That's pretty fucking ridiculous," a sophomore piped up, "That's seven hours." Since Taft curses a lot, he lets us return the favor.

"Too damn bad. I want to beat PBA, don't you?" We all nodded. It would be spectacular… "So I expect you all to be there at seven. Now pair up."

I instinctively walk over to Gibby. He's always been my partner. He's good, I guess, but I'm better. As opposed to the rest of us, he is the only one who hasn't changed at all. If possible, he just got Gibby-er.

"Sup, Benson?" He stretches his hamstring, "I see you have changed your trousers."

"Indeed, I have, how kind of you to notice." We always seem to speak like British ass-wipes during fencing, I have no idea why.

"Ahh yes. I heard about your misfortune."

"It was quite a scene, wasn't it?" I do twenty side jumps, but stop when Taft isn't looking. Gibby does the same.

"It certainly t'was," He finished stretching and finished putting his equipment, "Now tell me sir. How do you feel about incident?"

"Whadya mean?" momentarily forgetting the tone in which we were speaking.

"Are you angry with Ms. Puckett?" we start to fence, "I would be."

"Surprisingly not, my dear Gibby, she won fair and square."

"If I am to understand correctly, you were hustled."

"But, you are forgetting a major detail. I did without a doubt fall for it," I stab and we restart, "Thus making it a reasonable success on her part."

"You want to tap her, as well, correct?" I lose my track of thought and Gibby stabs. We once again restart.

"What the fuck, Gibby?" I take off my helmet and he does as well.

"It's no secret, dude." He says dropping the English accent.

"I repeat: What the fuck, Gibby?"

"In fact, I'm surprised it took this long," he ignored me, "I always assumed you two would end up together."

"Gibby! We aren't together!" …yet…

"Yeah, yeah." He waves me off and shoves his helmet on his head and before I can react, stabs me. Ok, that was a bullshit match. But, simply out of tradition, he takes his shirt off.

"Gibby!! Shirt on!!" I hear Taft yell.

But, I'm too occupied with my thoughts to pay attention to Gibby's antics. _In fact, I'm surprised it took this long. _What is he talking about? _I'm surprised it took this long. _

Gibby's an asshole.

* * *

"Puckett!" I turn and face my monstrosity of a coach, Ms. Laura, who is pretty much exactly like what I'll be like when I'm her age. She's kind of awesome.

"What up?" I swing my head forward and capture my hair in a pony tail elastic.

"Go get the balls. They are in the locker room. And my sandwich," I get up and she pats me on the back. She's the only adult I have ever let boss me around. But, you know what, she has never disrespected me, so I allow her the privilege.

I pull the big ass curtain aside and pass by the floor hockey players. I pull back the next curtain and pass the fencing team. I search the white uniforms for Freddie and finally see him tucked in the back left corner. He's writing something down, stats, I'm assuming. I watch him for a little longer. He gets up and hands the notebook to his coach. He takes off his helmet and shakes his hair. My breath catches in my throat.

He glances past me but double takes. He stares at me, straight at me, to the point where I feel like I have to back up. But I don't. I stare back, just as straight and hard. We've been doing that a lot today

He puts his helmet back on and grabs his little sword thing. I finish my journey to Ms. Laura's office.

I arrive back to our court with the ball bag and a delicious looking roast beef and mayo sandwich. I already sampled it when I was in the office. I must give my coach props on her sandwich abilities.

"Ok, Sam, Diane. Pick teams."

I pick Gloria, a muscular senior with black hair and a hammer tattoo; Nancy, a crazy tall freshman; Taylor, a funny little junior who really knows how to position; Cassie, a bitchy senior who doesn't know when to shut up; and Jess, a freshman who can serve really well, but can't do much else. Our volleyball program leaves a lot to be desired.

I start with the serve. It goes straight to Loud Girl and she bumps it out of bounds. I serve again and Loud Girl hits it over and out. I keep hitting it to Loud Girl and on the sixth shot she taps it over to Gloria. I stand back and out of play, my mind wondering towards Freddie. Is he pissed about the bet? Why? It's not like I haven't been meaner. Why am I even worrying about it? Since when do I care about what people think?

I am passed the ball and I bump it over to Diane who spikes it. Whoops. I glance as Ms. Laura who looks at me suspiciously, but doesn't saying anything. Guess who's getting a talking to after practice?

After we finish our warm up game, we do lame ass bumping drills. This is when Ms. Laura decides to talk to me. "Sam, what's on your mind?"

"A guy," As I said, lying just isn't my thing.

"And you want this guy, I am presuming…"

"Yes, sir" Please… don't ask for names. Wait… it's Ms. Laura.

"Ok. Leave practice early. Wash your face, and get out of that sweaty shirt. I have Neutrogena and another tee for you. And I would redo your hair, it's falling out," She pats me on the back, "But, for right now keep your head in the game."

I have the best coach ever.

**Author's Note: I am sorry that my chapter get shorter and shorted each time I update :( But, I HEART GIBBY!!!!! :D**


	4. After Practice

**Author's Note: this chapter is going to be really back and forth. Hope that doesn't annoy. (: **

When practice finally ended, I snuck into Ms. Laura's office and grabbed her face wash, her 2005 Seattle Tornado Tournament tee shirt, and a couple of hair ties. I walked into the bathroom, pulling of my sweaty tie-dye shirt in the process. I slipped it into the waist band of my red shorts and threw on Ms. Laura's. I combed my hair with my fingers and threw it up in an off-balance side-of-my-head ponytail. I squeezed some face soap in the palm of my hand and scrubbed my face. Shit, that felt good! I rinsed my face and took one last look in the mirror.

My cheeks were red from scrubbing. My eyes were huge and bulging out my head. My hands were shaking and I was breathing heavily, my chest moving in and out at an alarming rate. Jesus Christ, I'm so fucked.

I pulled my shirt out of my waistband and threw it over my shoulder. Let's do this mother fucker.

* * *

"Benson! Ass. Here. Now." I sigh and walk over to Taft. Please don't make me sprint, please mother of god, no sprints, no sprints.

"What, Taft?" I walk over and he flicks my head

"Why did Gibby beat you today in warm ups?" I rub the back of my head.

"He distracted me," I cringe at my lame excuse and back up a little, afraid of another head-flick.

"Gibby is always distracting, Benson! It's never bothered you before, you pussy!"

"It was something he said…" I cringe once again. I'm going to get my ass beaten.

"Was it about that girl who made you wet yourself?" How the fuck did he find out?!

"Umm…. Yeah…."

"Oh. She sounds like a good time." He puts his hands in his pockets, "I approve."

"Umm… Thanks, Taft."

"You're welcome," He points to the far side of our court, "Now do twenty line sprints. And when you're done, you can clean up."

God damn it.

* * *

I throw my backpack in the back of my Chevy, along with my fencing bag and my purse. I really need to clean in here. The floor is littered with pre-wrap, Groovy Smoothie cups, and Taco Bell wrappers. Whoops.

I peer at the clock. It's 4:15. Where is he? I sigh and shrink into my seat. I turn the radio on and change it to my favorite classic rock station. I always feel like I have to listen to classic rock when I'm driving. It really completes the whole Chevy thing.

Before I know it, my eye lids are getting heavy and my muscles begin to relax. A quick nap wouldn't do any harm…

* * *

After I finally cleaned up all the practice equipment, I ran to the locker room. Sam's going to fucking kill me. She'll never let me have sex with her now. Wow, when did I become such a dick? Geez…

I took off my shorts and tee-shirt and threw them in my locker. I changed back into my jeans and grabbed my polo shirt. I didn't bother putting it on, I'm going to go home and shower anyway. I grabbed my backpack and locked my locker.

* * *

_I stood in a huge doorway It was white. Blindingly white. I shaded my eyes with my hand and took a step in. There was nothing there. Only a small blue book. I opened it. Tons, and thousands of hand-written words. The pages started flipping and I dropped the book. "Sam!" "Sam!" a high pitched, sing-song voice called my name. I ignored it. What was in that book? _

_

* * *

  
_

I enter the parking lot and search it for Sam's Chevy. I spot it in the left hand corner and start walking towards it. As I get closer, I can hear The Rolling Stones playing from her car._ I can't get no... no, I can't get no.... satisfaction.... _Once I arrived at the car, I threw my backpack and fencing stuff in the back. I opened the door and plopped myself into the seat. I glance over at Sam, who I just realized is completely asleep.

"Sam..." I poke her belly. She twitches and pushes my hand away. I poke her again. She grabs my hand and pulls on it, without even stirring in her sleep. I try to pull my hand away, but her tight grip only got tighter. I use my other hand to try to release her grasp. Total Failure.

I turned up the music, ACDC, in hopes of it waking her up. _You Shook Me All Night Long _pounded in my ears, but went unnoticed by Sam. What the fuck?

* * *

_I walk further into the seemingly endless room. I must have dropped the book on the other side of the world. Where the hell did it go? This time a deeper, questioning voice called my name. I liked this voice. Suddenly the book was in front of me. I reached down to get it but, my arms weren't long enough. The book turned orange and ACDC started playing. Everything went black._

"Freddie..." I opened my eyes and rubbed the crusties out of my eyes, "Dude, where's my book?"

He knitted his eyebrows together, "Book?" I shook my head.

"Never mind," I look down at my hands and then up at Freddie, "Why are you half naked, and holding my hand?"

He looked down, and smiled. It wasn't his usual toothy smile, it was a 'I hate myself' smile. That one where you close your eyes and shake your head, and the corners of your lips turn up slightly.

"It's cause I want you, Sam."

I blink a couple times and search his face for a pre-laughter face twitch or a just kidding eye contact. I see none.

"Huh?"

He sighs and stares at me again, for the third time today. I want to say it's getting old, but it's not. At all.

"I want you. I want you now. I want to have sex with you, in this car, right now." My mind gets fuzzy and I try to form sentences, failing miserably until I come out with this gem.

"Why?" Good question, dipshit.

He chucked and answered, "Well, I'm half-undressed and we're both already sweaty..."

... Douche bag.

"Seriously, Fred-weird," I shift myself in the seat so I can face him without straining my neck, "Where the fuck did that come from?"

"I don't know," he shrugged, " You turn me on I guess." He catches a glance at my face and smiles the same smile as before. "And I know I turn you on, too."

End of discussion.

* * *

I pressed my lips to hers and fire shot through my veins. Her lips were warm and inviting and I couldn't seem to pull away. I pull her on top of me and twist her long curls around my finger and put my other hand on the small of her back. She ran her hands through my hair and pushed her tongue through my lips. I fiddled with the chair-reclining lever until the seat was horizontal. This is so much better.

"That needs to come off now." I gesture to her tee shirt and she smirks. In a matter of seconds, our clothes were on the dashboard and my sneakers were somewhere in the back of the truck. Her sports bra was a pretty blue color that matched her eyes. Suddenly, I felt a buldge in my boxers. Haha, that'll work.

She laughed and pulled off my boxers. 'Bout time...

"You have a condom?" she slapped her head and made an 'ohh yeah' face, "Duh! I forgot who I was talking to." I scratch my head and try to remember where I put it. When I turned fifteen, my mother decided it was time for 'the talk' where, after the four hour lecture, she supplied me with brochures, cassette tapes from the 80's and three boxes of condoms. The birds and bees scared me so much, I made sure I had at least three condoms on my person at all times. Yeah... Sam thought it was pretty hysterical. For two years she would constantly make fun of me, making jokes about 'why would I ever need a condom? no one would ever get with me.' Wow... that is so ironic...

"Check my wallet. It's in my jeans pocket." She dismounts me and reaches into the back and produces my jeans. I reach into the pocket and pull out my brown leather wallet. Inside I find a green condom with the words 'I will never use this' written in blue sharpie on the front. Sam bursts out in laughter and buries her head in my neck. I stare at the condom and then at her.

"I did it when I pit-pocketed you. Ohmigod, I forgot I did that." She continues to snicker and I shut her up by climbing on top of her and kissing her neck. She moans and I pull off her red panties. They say PINK on the ass. I never understood that, but now was not the time to discuss it. She grabs the condom from my hands and unwraps it. She discards the wrapper on the floor and her eyes twinkle.

She pulls the condom on over my cock and shifts herself onto the backseat. I position my self on top of her and ran my hands over her chest. Her skin is so warm. Has it always been this warm and I haven't noticed? I lean in and place my lips on her chest, then her neck, and finally her lips. She grabs the back of my head and pulls me in for a rougher kiss.

I moan despite myself and I can feel her smiling beneath me. I break off the kiss and slide myself into her. She yelps and her fingers claw into my shoulders. I ask if shes hurt. She opens her eyes and smiles, "Never better."

I smile and begin kissing her again. I feel myself reaching a climax. Jesus Christ, why haven't we done this before?! I've known her since we were five and and I waited until _now_ to be this happy? I'm fucking stupid.

* * *

Holy shit. That was really awesome.

I'm out of breath, my hair is all over the place and my ability to speak has been momentarily taken away. But, I don't care. At all.

I look at Freddie. His hair is messy and his face is glistening with sweat. But, he's smiling.

"That was fun." he says quietly. He grunts and searches the floor for his stuff. I prop myself and fold my arms. Fun? Try "the best motherfucking half hour ever."

"Yeah, Freddork. Who thought _you_ would be good in bed? Or in car, I guess." I shrug and lean onto his shoulder.

"Was that a compliment, I can't tell?" He chuckles and throws his arm around me.

"Take it however you please." I giggle and check my phone. "Oh shit. We have to go home."

"Alright. Let's roll."


End file.
